


Stardust

by Flightless_Bird



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Romance, eleventh Doctor John Smith lol, flirty river, flustered doctor, human!AU, river is river, self indulgent as hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 19:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightless_Bird/pseuds/Flightless_Bird
Summary: A collection of little works for the Doctor and River Song.





	Stardust

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this at the speed of light, haha, I hope you like it :3   
> I’ll be adding more to this later, as I scribble for these two.   
> Thanks for reading! Let me know if you like it!

**_Human_** / _ **Neighbors**_

 

John’s across-the-hall neighbor was trying to kill him.

Not the way that most across-the-hall-neighbors did, with blasting music and irritating complaints. No, she was actually trying to kill him. The whole serial killer scenario was playing out, complete with mysterious packages she carried in and out of her place, running into him in the hall carrying a hammer one night , and strange, ominous statements like /I hope you don't have plans later this week, sweetie, and if you do, you might want to cancel. I don't think you'll make it…/

What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?!

He was going out of his mind, and had been for days now, peeking out of his door before leaving and trying to listen through hers when odd noises bumped and shifted from within. Now, it wasn't exactly the brightest idea to go poking around at a suspected serial killer’s business, but in his defense, John wasn't great at having bright ideas. He worked in the area of questionable ideas, and an obnoxiously huge sense of curiosity—he was nosy, dammit, and he wanted to know what was going on.

But today was different, because today was Friday. And he couldn't accept the usual amount of nosiness today, because it was the end of the week and she’d said that was when he was going to die. Or, well… _probably_ die, very soon.

So today, he marched up to the door and raised his hand sternly to knock—

—the door swung open before he could even touch it, and she smiled up at him like a host greeting expected guests.

“I—River,” he stammered.

“Hello, sweetie,” she replied, voice smooth and casual as tea after dinner.

He glared grouchily at her. “It’s John.”

“Of course it is… Can I help you with anything?”

“I dunno,” he quipped, crossing his arms and lifting his chin. “Can you?”

She leaned a hand against the doorframe and tipped her head with brows raised. “I'll certainly try my best…” She always spoke like that, like something unsaid hung off the end of her sentences. And she never answered anything.

Definitely a serial killer. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he pointed behind her toward the rooms within. “Okay, then try this: what’ve you got back there?”

“Back where?”

“…well, I dunno where you keep it, but could be in a back room, closet maybe, bedroom.”

“Are you saying you'd like to see my bedroom?”

“Yes. Well—no, _no_ , I mean—I'm only asking because that's where I'd keep it, if I had…it.”

“Mmhm. And what exactly is ‘it?’”

“Murder weapon. I was thinking something along the lines of a knife collection, maybe a sword. You seem like the type to own a sword.”

Usually, when he blurted out things like that—a multitude of the odds and ends that flitted about in his mind—people laughed nervously and excused themselves as fast as they could. He was quite used to that.

River didn't react at all, besides an amused quirk of the mouth. “Why, I'm a bit offended, sweetie.” She also had a strong aversion to calling him by his name. Her voice dropped in playful darkness. “Do you really suspect me a murderer?”

“It's _John_ ,” he returned dutifully, “and yes. Or at least of planning one anyway.”

“Yours, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“You always were so convinced you have everyone's attention.”

Her starlight eyes glimmered and the ridiculousness of their banter hit him like a golden bout of laughter. He mirrored her smirk, resting his shoulder against the other side of the doorframe to face more toward her. “Don't I?” he asked lightly, and she laughed.

“Oh, you _are_ a cocky one, aren't you?”

“But I do have your attention.”

“Wouldn't you like that?” she asked in that velvet voice. Velvet like sheets and stardust.

Warming a bit under her gaze, he glanced away and back, fiddling with his bow tie. He cleared his throat. “So, you _are_ plotting my _demise_ then?” he asked, trying for the same charismatic play.

Her eyes skated over him, quick and slow all at once, and he felt rather like a pretty thing she'd picked up. “In some way.”

“Do you ever answer a question directly?” he asked, cocking his head.

“No,” she flashed back, “and you never stop asking them.” His mouth opened in outrage, and she abruptly pushed off the doorframe to draw closer. “My turn,” she chirped. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow night?”

“You already asked me that a while ago.” John straightened as she switched her shoulder to lean against his side of the doorway. He never minded people breaching his personal space, but their shoulders touching and a flyaway curl brushing his nose felt like static electricity.

She tipped up her chin. “And?”

“No, I don’t have any plans. But—”

“You do now.”

“What?”

“Join me for dinner?”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“It’s called a date, sweetie.”

“ _It’s_ _John_. And who says I’ll go on your ‘date?’”

Flitting in close, she kissed his cheek, fleeting and soft. He almost fell over, ears hot. Smiling slyly, she stepped back and began to close the door. “So, is seven good for you then? Good.”

He scrambled to get out of the way, still reeling from the catapult of this conversation. “Wait, what— I— Okay, you said seven?”

“Seven,” she repeated patiently. “I look forward to it, sweetie.” She tossed a wink his way through the last five inches of open doorway, before it clicked shut.

John stood staring at the closed door for a moment, processing what had just happened. So he had a date…with his serial killer. Hm. Not the best of situations.

Ah, oh well. It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure. Turning to cross the hall, he touched his cheek where she’d kissed him and smiled.


End file.
